


on his lips a whispered name

by pollitt



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 02:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollitt/pseuds/pollitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was never going to be a happily ever after, they both knew that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on his lips a whispered name

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is a Bond/the guy who dies at the beginning of _Skyfall_ (aka, Ronson) story. 
> 
> This has been at the back of my brain, itching to be written, since my first viewing of the movie. The fallen look on Bond's face when he saw Ronson bleeding out, the extra time he took to try and staunch the wound while Patrice was getting away with the hard drive, and the look Ronson and Bond shared before James was off and running -- there was something going on there. And it was more than the movie just showing that James Bond thinks that every agent is worth something (at least in my brain.) And so, Data challenged me to tell that backstory. 
> 
> Ronson never had a first name, so I borrowed another version of the actor's first name ([Bill Buckhurst](http://unitedagents.co.uk/sites/default/files/file.jpg))
> 
> Thank you to dogeared for the beta.

When two blunt instruments collide, if the collision happens at the right time, the exact angle, they can crack and shatter, and the soft insides that have been trained out of them--bullet-by-bullet, kill-by-kill--become exposed like a raw nerve.

It wasn’t love, but it was more than a fuck-- _fucks_ , plural. It was more than two people who knew how incredibly bad an idea the whole thing was and sending a two-finger salute to the consequences or finding release where it was offered.

They had never put a label on it, and they never made promises both knew they were incapable of keeping. Their loyalty was to Queen and country first and foremost, and any emotional attachments never got in the way of their duty.

But somewhere in the years since that first night in Burma, when Will had dug a slug out of James’s arm and they’d ended up fucking in the single bed of an abandoned safe house, James had given Will his address and Will had left a key to the flat he stayed at when he was in London.

Sometimes they’d meet just for a drink, and other times they wouldn’t make it far beyond the threshold before they were pushing and pulling clothes out of the way.

“How was your day at the office, Mr. Bond?” Will had joked once, sliding his hand underneath the waistband of James’s trousers.

It felt good to not have to worry about soft curves and angles, to just be able to dig fingers over smooth planes and hard muscle. To push and bite. To give over control to the strong hands that pinned James down against the mattress and the feel of Will’s hairy thigh nudging his legs open, and the way Will knew how to touch him, stroking with just the right amount of pressure, his hand spit-slick, until James came apart beneath him.

Whatever it was, it worked for them.

ooooo

Istanbul should have been easy. The agents were veterans, the safe house was secure. There had even been time for a drink, a chance to toast another assignment under their belts.

Later, when James steps into the room of the safe house and sees the overturned furniture, the dead agents, and Will, bleeding in the chair, he remembers the taste of scotch on Will’s lips and the look on Will’s face as James pushed inside, his hand gripping the back of Will’s thigh.

“Ronson’s down. He needs medical evac,” James says, looking at Will, seeing the life fading from his eyes.

He grabs a towel and presses it against the bullet wound. ‘Remember Burma,’ he wants to say as he holds Will’s hand against the towel, trying to stop the bleeding, but M is talking to him and the words are sharp shards in his throat.

The orders to leave Ronson, to find the hard drive, are expected, and James Bond is a man who knows his duty, knows what he has to do. This was never going to be a happily ever after, they both knew that.

The corner of Will's mouth lifts for just a second and he nods. M's voice is firm in James's ear, telling him to go.

James lifts his gun, his cracks sealing back, a blunt instrument once again.


End file.
